Berlin: from Wurst to burst

From the humble Schnellimbiss to mountainous Prenzlauer Berg breakfasts. Berlin is a food lover’s city. Join our writter Ryan Thompson on a gluttonous 12-hour eating binge

words by Ryan Thompson

In 1978, Bayer, the German pharmaceuticals giant, bought the makers of Alka-Seltzer, the “plink, plink, fizz” aid to digestion. Just another company changing hands, you might think. But it’s only after spending a weekend of gastronomic indulgence in Berlin that you can begin to truly understand and admire the shrewd foresight of such a deal.

Because when Berliners go out to a restaurant, they stay there. If, like me, you don’t know when to stop eating, Berlin is your food Mecca – in particular the old eastern suburbs or bezirke of Mitte and Prenzlauer Berg, which are crammed with a multi-cultural mix of great restaurants and cafés.

It’s 10am and I’m walking up the crumbling cobbles of Kastanienallee in Prenzlauer Berg, the cool, transient vein of the neighbourhood. On each side of the street, pockmarked tenements stoop like tattooed old men, giving the place a scruffy romanticism. ‘Breakfast’ in Prenzlauer Berg is a bit of a misnomer, particularly at the weekends when the streets don’t wake up till midday and remain sleepy until nightfall. So after a shot of black coffee, I decide to start my food tour with a classic Berlin snack – a Currywurst.

Tucked beneath the arches of the railway track at the northern end of Kastanienallee, Konnopke’s family-run Imbiss (snack bar) has reputedly been selling Berlin’s finest Currywurst since it opened in 1930. A slew of happy customers stands around the tables, nodding appreciatively. Encouraged, I order three portions. At only €1.70 a pop, it seems silly not to. If you don’t know Currywurst, you may be expecting a mammoth sausage, something stoutly Germanic. But what comes through the hatch is a humble-looking, diced Wurst in a small metal boat, with tomato sauce and a sprinkling of curry powder lovingly applied by the old ladies bustling behind the stand.

Three wurst down but looking for a more substantial meal, I head off to the blue and orange terrace of Frida Kahlo, a wonderfully sedate café by day, overlooking the leafy Helmholtzplatz on the corner of Lychener Strasse. Inspired by the Mexican artist, this little gem of a place draws a number of local characters. It’s midday on Saturday and it feels good to sit back on the pavement terrace and watch the weekend market spill out, as Prenzlauerbergers wheel in to stock up for the weekend. My second breakfast of the day arrives – a pile of blueberry and yogurt-filled pancakes scattered with starfruit, watermelon, grapes, pineapple, almonds and a drizzle of maple syrup and chocolate sauce. After just one pancake, I’m starting to regret that third Currywurst.

With my belt feeling ever so slightly constrictive, a cycle ride seems like a good idea. So I dial the Call a Bike service to unlock one of their ready-to-go bikes on the street (Tel. 0700 0522 5522), then peddle south to Mitte. The streets and alleys in Mitte branch off like tributaries, and the randomness of cafés, bookshops, art galleries and boutiques begs for equally random exploration. Shopping’s not part of the plan, so I head straight to one of neighbourhood’s most celebrated restaurants, Schwarzenraben on Neue Schönhauser Strasse, for a spot of lunch – a perfectly cooked black-truffle risotto. Housed in what used to be an old cinema with separate screens for men and women, this ecru-washed, cave-like eatery serves up mainly Italian fare created by head chef Christian Khalaf.

By now my stomach is slowly losing the battle against gravity. Onwards and outwards. Next stop, Monsieur Vuong. Something of an institution with Mitte locals, this Vietnamese restaurant on Alte Schönhauser Strasse is always teeming inside and out, serving up delicious noodle dishes and soups at excellent prices (€7–€9). South East Asian cuisine has really hit a note among food-savvy Berliners, with restaurants like Mao Thai in Prenzlauer Berg and Pan Asia in Mitte other notable successes. Despite the competition, it’s the vibrant red and orange interior and relaxed street-café feel of Monsieur Vuong that keeps the hordes coming back. One disadvantage, however, is that there’s no booking system so you may find yourself tortured by wafts of lemongrass and fish sauce while at the back of a long queue.

Having slurped up a rich prawn green curry, I make my way slowly north once more for dinner to a prospect that has had me drooling for weeks: the family-run Gugelhof on Kollwitzplatz. Bill Clinton famously ate here, so you might expect something showy. But inside, the Alsatian restaurant is modestly decorated and unprepossessing. Yellow walls look like they’ve withstood centuries of cigar smoke and there’s a convivial warmth as people chatter around the solid wooden tables. It’s like stepping into a family living room somewhere deep in the Rhine Valley.

A starter of goat’s cheese wrapped in Black Forest ham arrives, in a blueberry-anise sauce. Exquisitely presented, it’s more in tune with a multimillion dollar Manhattan eatery than a rustic Berlin restaurant – the streaks of dark jus around a delicately coiled salad look like something Kandinsky might have knocked out. The taste certainly lives up to the style.

Main courses are generally all heavy affairs, in keeping with traditional Alsatian cuisine: a fillet of rabbit comes on a bed of cranberries and Savoy cabbage with two boulder-sized gnocchi muscling in. You can still order the same dish that Clinton ate, Choucroute Gugelhof, for €12,60 (pickled cabbage with blood sausage and cured pork cutlet), but do bear in mind that the former President of the United Sates has had a five-hour quadruple heart bypass operation to relieve clogged arteries. I know how he feels, having greedily gorged on three days’ worth of food in just 10 hours. I can barely feel my pulse, but there’s one more place to stop before the journey’s over.

A waist-expanding tour of Berlin wouldn’t be complete without savouring the city’s most widely eaten food. It’s the saving grace of late-night revellers, the perfect signing-off after a night downing litres of Weizenbier – none other than the doner kebab. Local legend has it that this king of meaty snacks was invented in Berlin by Turkish immigrant Mehmed Aygün in 1971. Perhaps the best doner experience in the city can be found at Grill & Schlemmerbuffet Zach near Rosenthaler Platz in Mitte, where there is always a kaleidoscopic mix of customers chomping on monstrously overflowing veal-filled pitta, dripping garlic-yogurt down their fronts – or shoes in my case. I think I need to lie down. Perhaps I can be strapped into a cattle sling and airlifted back to my hotel? Quick, someone pass the Alka-Seltzer.